The Clean Up
by oh-snap-it's-her
Summary: Harry thought life would be easier after Voldemort. Turns out, reconstructing his past was worse. Harry has to perform a task called cleaning up. Drabble-y. Will be continued. Read and review!
1. Building Blocks

When kids are little, and you give them access to building blocks, they find it so much easier and enjoyable to actually create the tower than to perform a dreaded task that always comes afterward. A little thing called _clean_-_up_.

The kids gripe and groan and throw a fit and tell their parents how extremely unfair it is to have to put their toys away. The parents calmly explain for the umpteenth time that when you make a mess, you clean it up. That's the way of life. The kid finally cracks, cleans up the building blocks, and life goes on.

That's what was running through Harry's mind as he looked around at the damage the war had caused. His whole life had been building the tower. Now the tower had been knocked over, and Harry had to start the clean up. But while a child cleans up in less than a minute and life goes on, it was beginning to look like that for Harry it would take a little bit more than a minute to replace the life that he used to have.

Of course, Voldemort, the most evil, power-hungry wizard in the world hardly compared to the joy of creating a tower when you were a toddler. Voldemort, in fact, wasn't much fun at all. All through Harry's life, Voldemort had been the dark, unspeakable threat silently looming over him, waiting for signs of weakness so he could attack. It had been Harry's destiny to kill Voldemort since he was fourteen, when Voldemort had come back. Harry's whole life had been turned upside down, and Harry had thought that nothing could be worse than that.

How wrong he was.

Harry could almost see the grief and sadness hanging over the families that had lost someone in the war. He could see the devastation written across students' and teachers' faces alike as they turned to survey the damage left by a night of intense fighting. Harry noticed some of the students trailing their fingers along what used to be a wall before it was blown up by a stray jinx. He could see the deep sadness on their face as they looked at what used to be their home.

That's what hit Harry the hardest. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry's beloved home for years, was now only a dilapidated shell of its former self. The walls were falling apart. The Astronomy Tower had completely fallen over, leaving a gaping hole to match the other giant chasms that once were walls. The whole castle looked pathetic and shabby. It looked nothing like the extravagant structure glowing with inner beauty that Harry could see in his mind's eye. It looked nothing like its former self.

As he trudged along the sloping lawns, avoiding the deep craters caused by falling pieces of rock and jinxes, Harry wished nothing more than to curl up on his four poster bed (assuming his dormitory hadn't been blown up), go to sleep, and wake up to find himself in the tent with Ron and Hermione. He wanted to find out that this had been all a dream. A nightmare, really, but a figment of the imagination, nonetheless. He'd tell Ron and Hermione about it, and Ron would just laugh it off with Harry, but Hermione would purse her lips and tell him that he really should try to block Voldemort out his mind. Ron would tell her to lay off, and they would get into an argument, just like old times.

But there were some problems with this newfound hope. First of all, Harry didn't have any imagination if Voldemort didn't inhabit his dreams. He couldn't have dreamed this all up. Harry knew Voldemort didn't come up with this either, because he didn't have much imagination either.

Harry stubbed his toe on a chunk of rock as he strode toward the devastated castle. This did nothing to improve his mood. Rubbing his toe impatiently, he set off again to the great oak front doors that were surprisingly still standing, even after the whole fight. Harry couldn't help smiling a little. Even when everything looked hopeless, there was always someone, even Hogwarts, there to welcome him back. Someone cared for him no matter what.

Hermione and Ron stood next to each other halfway down the stone steps, waiting for him. It was hard to see them clearly, but there was no mistaking Ron's bright red Weasley hair which reflected off the setting sun and made his head look like it was on fire. Hermione could only be the one standing next to him. As he got closer, he could see that they both had one arm raised to shield their eyes against the setting sun. He also noticed that they were holding hands with their free hands.

Harry's sudden feeling of warmth grew as he reached his friends. Because no matter what you went through, what troubles arose, friends were the thing that kept you from going crazy. And they were also waiting for you on the other side.


	2. George

**A/N: Chaptero Dos! I don't know what chapter is in Spanish, so sorry. Deal with it, I guess. This one's much longer, thank goodness.**

**Disclaimer: As smart as I am, I couldn't think of this world on my own. So I'm just going to use J.K Rowling's world instead.**

It was Fred's funeral.

Most of the people who died in the war were buried at the mass burial that was held at Hogwarts two days after the war. Harry was forced to go to it, even though he didn't want to. It was a nice ceremony, despite the circumstances. It took place in the evening, and the setting sun made the sky glow pink. It was a picturesque moment; the sky and the flowers set up in vases all around the attendees of the funeral. The mood didn't quite match the beauty, unfortunately.

Mr. Weasley, however, had managed to get permission to bury Fred separately, in a family funeral. Harry, though he wasn't proud of it, was secretly relieved. One less body to see sent away for good. One less ceremony to witness all the tears and sobbing.

That was until Mrs. Weasley said, "Oh, don't be silly, Harry. You're part of our family now."

So Harry was now stuck in the second pew in a little church by the Burrow. The air was very warm, and Harry tugged uncomfortably at his stiff collar. The little wizard who was presiding the service had an annoying habit of sniffing loudly at the end of each sentence. His white hair stuck out of either side of his head with a bald patch on top. His glasses kept sliding down his nose, and each time he sniffed, he pushed them back in place.

Ron was sitting next to Harry. His expression was stony and his normally cheerful blue eyes were blank.

Next to Ron sat Mrs. Weasley. She had an embroidered white handkerchief in one hand and was gripping George's arm tightly with the other. She was sobbing uncontrollably, and dabbed her eyes now and then with the handkerchief. But the efforts were fruitless, as more tears just fell and took their place.

George, who was the subject of Mrs. Weasley's brutal arm-squeezing, looked outright angry. Harry almost didn't recognize the expression on his face when he first saw him this morning. George was normally happy and joking. But now, since his twin brother died, Harry could only guess that he was angry at the injustice of it all.

"—Fred Weasley was an excellent young man who always tried to do his best in school, at home—"

George clenched his fists.

_That's not true_, Harry thought to himself. _Fred didn't care about his grades at all!_

"—a truly ambitious young man—"

Oh, that was a good one. Ambitious. That's why he created a _joke shop_.

"—and will always be remembered by his family and friends, especially George, his twin brother—"

George stood up at that point. Almost everyone turned to look at him except the old wizard talking up front, who was rambling away, totally oblivious to the disturbance in the listeners.

"'Scuse me. Sorry, coming through," Harry heard George mutter as he started down the pew to the aisle. There were some mild protests to being stepped on, but everyone felt so bad for George that they didn't say anything else. Or try to stop him, for that matter.

Two people down from Harry, Ginny made a move to go after him, but Mr. Weasley caught her arm and murmured, "It's okay, let him blow off some steam."

Ginny clearly didn't like it, but she obeyed her father and settled herself back in the seat.

Harry tuned back into the old wizard with great difficulty.

"—we will, of course, miss Fred very much, and we know that his memory lives on—"

X.x.X.x.X

After Fred was buried, and all tears had been wiped away, Mr. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, and Harry went looking for the runaway George.

"Where _is_ he?" Ginny panted as she hurried after the boys. Her heels and dress made walking very difficult, and it didn't help that they'd been walking for about a half an hour. Mr. Weasley had tried to convince her to go back to the Burrow, but she had ignored him.

"Some secluded place, probably by trees and not a house in sight," Harry said knowledgeably, stepping carefully over a gnarled root sticking up out of the ground. They were approaching the woods that were behind the church where they had had the ceremony earlier.

"How do you know?" Ginny asked incredulously, tripping over the same root that Harry had just stepped over.

"What kind of question is that?" Ron croaked. It was the first words Harry had heard him say all day.

Harry caught her before she fell. "That's where I would go, Ginny. I'm plenty familiar to getting over death."

Ginny bit her lip and looked at him with pity. Harry didn't want her pity. He was over death now.

"Coming up here," Harry said, just for the sake of changing subjects. "We'll probably find him over here."

It was a clearing in the trees. The grass was lush and green, and wildflowers grew in bunches on the ground. The circle of trees surrounding the clearing gave it the illusion of a special magical spot. The second you walked away, the spell would be broken. It was exactly the kind of place Harry went when he was missing Sirius, or his parents, or whoever else he was particularly mourning.

Sure enough, the hunched form of George was just visible beneath a particularly old oak tree. His head was bowed, and his knees were drawn up to his chest in a protective manner. Harry thought he looked like a little kid, hopelessly lost and confused.

"George!" Ginny exclaimed, tottering over to him on her heels.

George didn't look up, but he wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing them in closer.

Ginny hovered next to him for a second, unsure of what to do. Finally, she simply plopped down on the ground next to him and dropped her head onto his shoulder. Mr. Weasley, Ron, and Harry walked over less enthusiastically.

"You all right there, George?" Mr. Weasley asked awkwardly, standing over him uncomfortably with his hands jammed into the pockets of his pants.

"What kind of question is that?" came the muffled voice of George, his head still buried in his arms.

"You're right," Mr. Weasley said apologetically. "I'm sorry."

George didn't answer. His arms shifted some more.

"It's because they didn't know Fred, right?" Harry asked. "The wizard leading the ceremony? You thought it was an insult to Fred's memory for his funeral to be so false?"

George lifted his face at last, and Harry noticed tearstains running down his cheeks. "Why do you care? Why should it matter to you?"

"I know death," Harry answered quietly. "I've been living with it since I was one and my parents were murdered."

"You don't care!" George cried. "You think that just because you were an _orphan_ that you're all high and mighty and know everything about death! You don't really care!"

That hurt very much, but Harry knew George didn't mean it, so he kept quiet.

"I don't want your stupid advice! I just want Fred back, and you telling me he died for the greater cause is worthless! He's not worth the 'greater cause'. You and your stupid words aren't worth it either!"

"George!" Ginny cried. "How could say that?"

"I can say what I want to say!" George shouted at her. "If you support him, that's not my problem. It's yours!"

Ginny burst into tears. Maybe George was just that angry, or maybe he was starting to realize what he did wrong, but he got up and stormed away.

Ron was staring at Harry, his mouth slightly ajar and a dumbfounded expression on his face.

Ginny was still crying. Harry squatted down next to her. "He didn't mean it, you know. He's just sad and doesn't know what to do about it."

Ginny's sobs slowly subsided. She hiccupped and ran the back of her hand across her eyes. "I—I know. It's stupid to be crying. But it's been a stressful week. You of all people should know that."

"I do know that," Harry said.

"But what about you? You know he didn't mean all of that, right? He's just sad, like you said," Ginny said, pushing herself into a standing position.

"I know," Harry said with a shrug. "I reckon lots of people feel that way about me right now. They just want someone to blame. But they better get a grip on themselves, because if this is the way they treat their savior…"

Ginny laughed. "Right. Not that you're modest or anything."

Mr. Weasley had been watching George's progress through the trees, but now he turned. "I think George's gone back to the Burrow. That's good. Molly will take care of him. We'd better be headed back ourselves, just to make sure she knows we weren't eaten by dragons or something."

The four of them made their way through the trees, following George's trail of destruction. In his anger, he had blasted apart low-hanging branches and roots that had gotten in his way.

They finally reached the Burrow. Molly Weasley hurried outside and met them halfway across the lawn.

"Well, George is in a right state! What did you do to him, Arthur?" she demanded, looking very menacing with a long wooden spoon in one hand and her wand in the other.

"Nothing! Nothing, dear! I—I—"

"Yes?" Mrs. Weasley prompted, tapping her wand casually against her arm.

"He just blew up and ran away, Mum," Ginny told her mother tiredly.

Mrs. Weasley uncrossed her arms in exasperation. "He must get a grip on himself! They rest of us are missing Fred very much too, but we aren't getting angry at everyone! Just yesterday, I was putting his socks away in his dresser and he almost hexed me!"

"It's not his fault," Harry said. "It's tough losing someone especially close to you. I'll go talk to him, if you want."

"Oh, no, dear, though that's very kind. Not to scare you, but I wouldn't want to see the condition you're in when you leave that room," Mrs. Weasley said, leading them back toward the house. "How about Ron or Ginny?"

"NO!" they both shouted.

Seeing the disapproving look on her mother's face, Ginny hastened to say, "It's not that we don't want to—"

"We really want to," Ron added.

"But Harry's the one who offered," she continued. "Look how much he wants to help!" She waved her hand in Harry's direction. Harry was glaring at her. He did not want to talk to George, but he knew when he offered that Mrs. Weasley would overrule him. Ginny and Ron both knew that.

"And he's better at Protection spells than us," Ron said as an afterthought.

Harry could see the wheels turning in Mrs. Weasley's head. Should she send the better prepared kid, or the kids who were actually family?

Finally, Mrs. Weasley said, "Well, Harry, if it isn't too much trouble…."

Harry scowled. "No, no trouble at all."

Ron was biting back a laugh as he clapped him on the back and whispered, "Good man. And good luck."

Harry trudged through the kitchen and up the stairs. He made for the twins' old bedroom, but he stopped with his hand hovering above the doorknob when he heard sniffling coming from Percy's room. Harry frowned. He thought Percy was down in the living room. Harry could've sworn that he saw a glimpse of Percy as he was going up the stairs.

Thinking how he'd better check it out, Harry changed direction and tapped on Percy's door instead.

No one answered.

Harry turned the doorknob instead, and the door swung open. Harry blinked when he saw George on a makeshift bed opposite of Percy's bed.

George glared at him. "What do you want?"

Harry didn't answer, but sat down in between the two beds on the floor with his back against Percy's bed.

"What do you _want?_" George demanded more angrily this time.

"I lost the argument seeing who would talk to you," Harry replied.

"Well, great," George said. "You don't want to be here, and I don't want to be _with_ you, so you just go right back out that door located to your left, and everyone's happy."

Harry didn't move.

"Did you hear me? 'Cause _I'm _the one with the missing ear."

"You're right, you know," Harry said finally. "I'm an orphan. I know death. And I do try to give advice about death."

"Really?" George asked sarcastically.

"But," Harry continued, "I give advice because I can't stand to see someone hurt. When I was little, there was no one there to comfort me. I knew what I wanted them to say to me. I wanted them to reassure me. But for ten years, all I got was: 'They were freaks and they got what was coming for them. They died in a _car crash_, that's how stupid they were.'"

"Then you found the wonderful world of Hogwarts. Happy ever after. The end. Now leave please," George said.

"If you think Hogwarts was all rainbows and unicorns you're wrong," Harry said, trying to control his temper. "All I had was people staring at my forehead. They all talked about how I was so awesome. And when my parents were mentioned, it wasn't about what they were like when they were kids, like I wanted. It was all about how they were _murdered_ by Voldemort, but that doesn't matter because Harry Potter lived! They didn't care I was an orphan. They didn't realize how much I wanted them back. I'd trade fame for family any day. I never wanted fame. I hate it."

"Lovely and moving words, Harry, but I really do want you to leave now," George said. But Harry could see in his eyes that he wanted to hear the rest, so he continued.

"Then I had some close encounters with Voldemort. Then in my fourth year, he came back."

Suddenly, George's temper flamed up again. "I don't want to hear about Voldemort!" he shouted. "He killed my brother!"

Harry didn't bother to tell him that Voldemort didn't directly kill his brother. He was too angry. "You think I wanted to be there?" he shouted back. "You think I wanted to see an innocent boy _murdered_ because I was on the ground just because my head hurt? Do you think I wanted to be the person to help bring Voldemort back to life?"

George's angry expression melted off his face. "What?"

"Yes. I helped Voldemort come back to life!" Harry repeated, still very infuriated. "I've never told anyone that except Dumbledore. Not even Ron and Hermione. You think I'm proud of it?"

"How did you help Voldemort come back to life?" George asked, almost whispering. "You were just there. You were just a witness. You had nothing to do with it."

Harry laughed bitterly. "That's what I try to tell myself. But for Voldemort to come back, he needed 'Blood of the enemy'. So, look."

Harry pulled his sleeve up past his elbow. It was faint, but it could still be clearly seen. On the crook of his elbow, there was a cut made by Peter Pettigrew's knife all those years ago.

George looked at the scar. "Blimey, Harry," he said weakly.

"Yeah," Harry said bitterly, pulling his sleeve down again. "I could've stopped Wormtail. I could've put up a fight. But I didn't. And Voldemort's came back, killing hundreds of people."

George looked horrified.

"There's another thing too," Harry said. He hadn't told anyone about the Horcruxes, save Ron and Hermione, but he was pretty miffed at George and was enjoying his discomfort. "You want to know why Ron, Hermione, and me dropped off the face of the earth this past year? When Voldemort killed someone, sometimes his soul ripped. He transferred his piece of soul into an object. His soul ripped seven times, and I had to find the seven objects and destroy them."

George looked somewhere between disgusted and shocked.

"The seven objects were Helga Hufflepuff's cup, Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, a locket, Tom Riddle's diary, a ring, and Nagini the snake."

"What was the seventh?" George asked.

Harry looked straight into his eyes. "Me."

George's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious."

"That's why I turned myself in. So Voldemort could kill me and therefore kill the piece of his soul inside me. That's why I could speak Parseltongue. That's why I had access to Voldemort's mind."

George was looking suddenly apologetic. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I didn't realize—"

Harry cut him off. "You think I'm big-headed because I'm famous? Well, I'm not. So please don't make fun of me, or my parents' death. And although Fred died, you don't have to die with him."

George stopped looking apologetic. "What?"

"You are closing up inside. You wish you died with him. But that's the way fate wanted it to be. And you know something else?"

"What?" George said again.

"Fred gave you his presence for twenty some years. He gave you all he knew. Now the question is what are you going to do with it? Fate, whatever that is, must have thought you were a strong person, or Fred never would've died. And your family is also hurting right now. Don't push them away. They're all you have right now."

With that, Harry stood up and walked out of the room.

Downstairs, Mrs. Weasley looked him over hurriedly in the motherly way of hers. "I heard yelling. Are you okay?"

Harry smiled. "I'm okay. George is too."

**A/N: Not so sure about the ending but you get the point. Reviews are better than pudding. And I seriously love pudding.**


	3. Teddy

**A/N: Before you read, I should say that not all chapters are going to be chronological. I will probably skip around a lot. Another thing, not all chapters are going to be in Harry's point of view, like this one. That is just because I couldn't make it work in his point of view, so I changed it (mwahahaha). So, yeah. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I, Spiderwoman, disclaim all characters in this story.**

Rain was coming down in thick sheets outside. Visibility was difficult, and every now and then thunder shook the house.

Andromeda stood by the window, waiting anxiously for her visitor.

Her grandson had fallen asleep half an hour ago, despite the boom of thunder and slapping of rain on the roof. She was very thankful for his easily-pleased personality. She hadn't played the part of a mother for years. Now she suddenly found herself as a guardian again, filling in for her daughter and son in-law when they died, not even two weeks ago. She couldn't ask for an easier child to watch over, but she still found herself in panicky situations where she couldn't remember what to do. She was just improvising as she went along.

Her attention was yanked back to the present when there was a loud crack outside, different from the thunder's noise. Andromeda could see a blurry figure approach her doorstep. A few seconds later there was a tentative knock at the door. Andromeda couldn't help but smile a little when the hesitant knock sounded. She could just imagine Harry there awkwardly like the kid he really was, not quite sure of what to do.

Andromeda moved away from the window and opened the door slightly, peeking outside to make sure it really was Harry. Even with Voldemort gone for good, she couldn't get out of the habit of being overly cautious in everything she said or did.

Harry Potter really was standing on the step, though, rain soaking his clothes. She opened the door quickly and ushered him inside.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "I got a bit blown off course in this weather." He waved at the pounding rain outside.

"Apparating in this weather is a bit dangerous," Andromeda agreed. A worried expression crossed her face. "We should have rescheduled this for another day. What Molly would say…"

Harry couldn't help but laugh a bit. "Well, she wasn't pleased when I told her I was coming here anyway. She was already nervous that I was Apparating at night."

"Then she must have had a heart attack when you told her you were coming in the rain, too."

Harry shrugged. "Just about."

Andromeda smiled and led him into the kitchen, where the lights were on and visibility was easier. It was then when she saw how truly awful Harry looked. He had lost weight, and scratches and cuts lined every inch of his body. A particularly nasty gash ran from his eyebrow to his chin. There were deep circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in weeks (which probably wasn't that much of an exaggeration). She immediately felt bad that she had wrote to him, asking if he'd come over to meet his godson. He looked like he could use at least one week when people weren't constantly pestering him to do one thing or another.

Harry's hair was dripping with rain. He ran a hand through it absentmindedly as he studied her. He looked thoughtful.

"Tea?" Andromeda blurted out.

"Sorry?" Harry asked, looking mildly surprised.

Andromeda winced inwardly at how stupid that sounded to her now. Too late to take it back now. "I asked if you wanted tea."

To her relief, Harry nodded. "That would be great, thanks."

Andromeda tapped the tea kettle with her wand. It started to whistle. "So," she said as she pulled teabags from the cupboard. "What have you been doing?"

Harry sat down at the kitchen table and studied a moving photograph of her, Ted, and Nymphandora. "Nothing much," he said after a while, still staring at the picture. "I've been helping out at Hogwarts, mostly. They kicked me out a week ago and said I couldn't come back. Something about hw I've done too much work already." He looked away from the photo to roll his eyes in exasperation.

Andromeda brought over the two mugs of tea. She plopped one down in front of Harry and sat down in the chair across from him. "I can't say I blame them."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, well. Work keeps my mind off of…other things."

Andromeda knew he purposely was avoiding talk of the war. "Well," she said, "I know what you mean there."

"It also gives me opportunity to hide from the reporters. Some of them are from newspapers I've never even heard of. Have you heard of _Wizard's Press_?"

Andromeda smiled. "Never."

"And if they want the story, they have two dozen other papers to refer to."

They lapsed into silence.

"Well, I wrote to you so you could meet with Teddy," Andromeda said finally, fingering her mug. "He's upstairs in his room."

Harry nodded but didn't say anything. His attention was back on the picture.

Andromeda took the mugs—hers empty, his half full—and brought them to the sink. She waved her wand and they set to cleaning themselves.

She leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. "Ready to meet him?"

Harry nodded again and stood up. She led them to Teddy's room, where a crib was set up in the corner. She walked over and looked at her grandson fondly. His hair was a bright, sunshiny yellow today. Andromeda picked him up and turned to face Harry.

Harry looked at Teddy with his head cocked, as if trying to decide what to think of him.

Teddy opened woke up right then. His eyes were brown today. Teddy looked around and caught sight of Harry. Teddy stared intently at Harry.

Andromeda almost laughed at the almost identical expressions on the boys' faces as they sized each other up.

"Well?" Andromeda asked. "Do you want to hold him?"

Harry looked nervous. "I don't know how."

Andromeda sighed and simply plopped Teddy unceremoniously into Harry's arms. Harry looked annoyed as he struggled to arrange his hands in a better position.

"It's instinctual," Andromeda told him knowledgably, trying not to grin at his obvious discomfort.

It was true. Harry was now holding Teddy in what most would call a suitable position.

Teddy was still gazing steadily at Harry. Suddenly, he reached out and touched Harry on the chin.

"I think he likes you," Andromeda said.

"I would hope so. I wouldn't be happy if I was dumped into a stranger's arms." He glared at Andromeda pointedly.

Andromeda waved her hand dismissively. "That's beyond the point. You're his godfather. And you know more about his, shall we say, predicament."

"What predicament?"

Andromeda looked at Teddy sadly. "He doesn't have a mother or father to care for him. I can try to fill in, but I will never be his parent. I have no idea really of what he'll go through later in life. But you also grew up without parents. You know exactly what he's going through. You're his perfect guardian."

Harry pursed his lips, something, no doubt, picked up from Hermione. "Let's hope his childhood's better than mine."

A faint smile played around Andromeda's lips. "I think, with a godfather like you, Teddy's going to have an excellent childhood."

**A/N: Hey, wanna review? Great! Just click that button down there. I also am taking suggestions as to what I should write about next.**


	4. Together

**A/N: Chapter four! I am quickly running out of ideas, so before I start I'm going to ask that you review not only to tell me how awesome this story is but to give me some ideas as to what you want to read about. I am not getting ANY REVIEWS! Though some people have favorited this story, I want to know what I'm doing right or wrong or what you want to read about because it is what you want to read that matters. So anyway, enough talking. On with the story. Actually, no. Not on with the story. I wanted to say that this story will switch perspectives a lot. Just saying. **

**Disclaimer: I disclaim. Didn't you read the DISCLAIMER part?**

The first day Harry was back at the Burrow after the war, he felt an odd sense of incompleteness.

It was the sort of feeling that you get when you feel like you're missing something important, but you can't put your finger on what exactly it was.

Harry spent the whole day in a frustrated sort of daze, trying to remember what it he was forgetting. He found himself staring at the wall for ten minutes straight before Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his nose and staring at him like he had gone crazy. He actually was going to go crazy if he didn't remember what was bothering him soon.

Harry had been staring at the wall again when Hermione snapped her fingers in front of him again. Harry jumped and looked around to see Ron and Hermione both staring at him with questioning looks on their faces.

"What?" Harry asked defensively, pulling his stack of papers toward him and trying to pretend like he had been writing the whole time.

"Well?" Hermione asked. When he didn't answer she slapped her hand down right in the middle of his paper, preventing him from writing.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "You smeared the ink! Now I have to start all over again!"

"Are you going to answer me?" Hermione asked impatiently, ignoring Harry's protests.

"All you said was 'Well?' What do you want me to say to that? I don't have the faintest idea of what you're referring to."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, because staring at the wall is normal."

Harry glared at him. "I've been called crazy more than I've been called Harry. I think it's clear that I'm _not_ normal."

"Why are you staring at the wall?" Hermione asked, gazing shrewdly down at him.

Harry sighed. It was no good pretending that he wasn't staring at the wall. Hermione was very perceptive, and when she thought something was wrong, she did anything to make it right, even if it didn't apply to her. "I just feel like I'm missing something," Harry said finally.

"Oh, great. He really _is_ going bonkers," Ron said, burying his head in his hands. "What did I do to deserve a friend like this?"

"Ron, be quiet," Hermione snapped. To Harry she said, "That happens to me all the time. I think it's because I'm so used to getting up early and travelling every day. I _have_ to be doing something."

Harry didn't think that was it, but he didn't say anything. He just shook his head and continued writing up papers for Kingsley Shacklebolt.

X.x.X.x.X

It wasn't until dinner when Harry finally realized what was bothering him.

"Mom, what's for dinner?" Ron asked they trooped into the kitchen that evening.

Mrs. Weasley didn't turn away from the broccoli she was slicing on the counter. "Look around, Ronald. What do you see that's edible sitting around the room?"

Ron looked around. "Chicken?"

Mrs. Weasley looked at the ceiling as if asking for patience. "Hermione, good luck with him."

Hermione blushed scarlet while Ron searched for other food.

Five minutes later, the whole Weasley family minus George (who locked himself in his room), but with the addition of Harry and Fleur (who, Harry supposed, was technically a Weasley herself now), was seated around the table. Mrs. Weasley heaped large portions of food onto everyone's plates.

They were just about to dig in when Mr. Weasley said, "Let's say a quick prayer of gratitude that we are here together tonight."

Mr. Weasley went on with the prayer, but Harry was hardly paying attention. He was looking at Mrs. Weasley, who was sitting across from him. She was gazing at each member of her family in turn with a loving expression that only a mother could possess. It suddenly clicked. He knew exactly what he was missing.

Knowing it would be rude to leave the table when Mrs. Weasley had just spent a long time in the kitchen, he resigned to waiting patiently and eating his food.

Mrs. Weasley pushed the bowl of mashed potatoes toward him across the table. "Help yourself, dear."

"Oh," Harry said. "Oh, no. I'm not hungry."

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips. "Don't be silly. You've lost too much weight this week. I'm willing to bet that you haven't but three meals in seven days."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but realized the truth to that statement. "I wasn't at all hungry this past week. There's too much going on, and a lot of it was so bad that even Ron could lose his appetite."

Mrs. Weasley sharp, mothering expression melted into one of pity. "No potatoes then? That's alright. Ron will eat them."

As the rest of the Weasley's finished their meal, Harry slipped quietly from the table. No one but Hermione saw him go. She shot him a questioning glance before she went back to her conversation with Ginny.

He slipped out the door, and walked a few yards before he spun on his heel and Apparated.

X.x.X.x.X

Hermione noticed Harry's abnormal behavior the whole day. He was constantly staring out in space, frowning intensely at a random piece of parchment, and was just generally in a world of his own.

So when she saw him slip away from the table at dinnertime, she didn't really give it much thought. She brushed it off as one of his strange actions to be added to the list of is weird behaviors of the day.

She went back to her debate with Ginny about whether or not Arnold, Ginny's Pygmy Puff, or Crookshanks, Hermione's cat, was cuter. She didn't even register the faint popping sound that she heard, or how it probably the sound of some one Apparating.

It wasn't until she was helping Mrs. Weasley with the dishes when she thought of him again.

Mrs. Weasley dropped a plate into the sink, sending up a splash of soapy water. "I don't even know why I bother cleaning Ron's plate. He does a pretty good job of it himself."

Hermione laughed, took out her wand, and set the plates to cleaning themselves. Mrs. Weasley sighed and sat down heavily in a chair. Hermione sat down next to her.

"Long day," Mrs. Weasley told her. "A long, long day."

"I know. The Ministry has Harry filling out all these papers," Hermione said, gesturing to the stack of documents that they had piled on the kitchen counter before dinner.

"Speaking of which, where is Harry? I haven't seen him since dinner."

Hermione thought back to the dinner table and how he had slipped out without anyone, save her, noticing. "I saw him leave during dinner," Hermione said.

Mrs. Weasley looked at the clock. "He's been gone for four hours?"

Hermione had to admit that that was pretty strange. "He's probably not far."

"But it's dark out! And not all of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban. Suppose he got captured?" Mrs. Weasley wrung her hands worriedly.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "He's probably perfectly fine."

"But only 'probably'. We're not certain!"

Hermione sighed. "I'll get him if you want."

Mrs. Weasley brightened a considerable amount. "Oh, good girl. Are you sure you don't mind? Take Ron if you need him. I'm sure he won't object to spending more time with you."

Hermione left quickly before she could say anything else.

Ron was in the living room with the rest of the Weasley kids. He was listening to Bill tell about all of the fines, sentences, and hearings of the Death Eaters that had been caught.

"Both of them are sentenced to a lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban. They hardly got a fair hearing. Of course, they would've gone to Azkaban either way. Think of all the things they've done."

Hermione grabbed Ron's arm and dragged him to the front door.

"Hermione! Ow! Get off!" Ron protested as he found himself in the clutches of his insane girlfriend. "What are you doing?"

"Look at the lovebirds go off alone!" Charlie called behind them. "Off to kiss somewhere quiet, no doubt."

"Shut up, Charlie!" Ron threw back over his shoulder, as he was dragged onto the porch. Turning angrily to Hermione, who had let go of his arm but still marching onward, he said, "_Why_ exactly did you do that?"

"We're going off to find your best friend," Hermione shouted over her shoulder.

Ron hurried to catch up with her. "Harry?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Unless you can think of anyone else who would put up with you."

"That's not true," Ron insisted. "I've got plenty of friends."

"Name three," Hermione asked in a smug voice which she used when she knew she was right. "Three people that call you their friend."

"You, Harry, and—" Ron hesitated, trying to think of another one. Hermione spread her arms in an I-told-you-so gesture. "Neville!" he finished triumphantly. "Neville calls me his friend!"

"Never mind. We need to find Harry. He's gone off somewhere, and your mum is about to have a nervous breakdown if he doesn't get back soon."

They searched all around the Burrow, in the woods, and even skimmed through the muggle village that was located not too far from the Burrow. No Harry.

Hermione checked the wristwatch on her arm. "It's getting late. We need to find him soon or else your mum will send a search party for _us_."

"Well where is he, then?" Ron asked.

"If I knew, we wouldn't still be out her!" Hermione said shortly. "Use your brains once in awhile. Think. If you were Harry and, oh, I don't know, you had some sort of _problem_, where would you go? What would you do?"

Ron answered immediately. "I'd go to you. You always know something that will help."

Hermione flushed with pride. "Thank you. But that doesn't help us because he _didn't_ come to me."

"Then you would tell us to go to the library to figure it out," Ron said.

"I hardly think Harry's lounging in the library right now," Hermione mused. "If that doesn't work, where would you go?"

Ron took a little longer to answer this time. "Oh, I dunno. Talk to one of my many family members, I guess."

Hermione clapped a hand to her forehead. "That's it! He went to his family! It makes sense!"

Ron looked horrified. "You're not talking about the Dursleys, are you? Because they are the worst people I've met. And we haven't even technically met yet."

"Of course not the Dursleys. They're abysmal old fools, if you ask me," Hermione snapped impatiently.

"So who then?"

Hermione didn't answer. She was too busy doing mental calculations to herself. "Probably—maybe not, actually…think so—right. Okay Ron, we're Apparating."

"We're—what?" But Hermione had already grabbed his hand and turned on the spot.

X.x.X.x.X

They emerged at the entrance to a cemetery. A church was located not too far away, and cozy little houses lined the streets.

Ron looked around at his surroundings. "He can't be here! What are you thinking? He's crazy, I'll admit, but he wouldn't just stroll into a cemetery at night and—"

He stopped when he caught sight of a figure toward the back of the graveyard. The figure was shaking uncontrollably. It was Harry.

"Harry!" Ron whispered in a scared, strained voice. "Hermione, let go of me! There's something wrong with him!"

Hermione struggled to hold onto his arm as he tried to break away and aid Harry. "Ron—hold—on. He's—he's crying!"

Ron stopped struggling immediately. "What? What did you say?"

"He's crying, you insensitive git. You know…tears come out of your eyes. Happens generally when you are sad."

"I know what crying is!" Ron interrupted impatiently. "Why would he be crying?"

Hermione took a long, foreboding look at the grave before she said, "That's his parents' grave."

X.x.X.x.X

Ron could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Harry cry. Maybe that's why it came as such a shock to see him sobbing when he had just defeated a Dark Wizard. If he didn't cry before, Ron didn't at all expect him to be crying _after_.

Hermione, the trio's unofficial guidance counselor, signaled Ron to come with her to Harry's hunched form. They stood side-by-side behind him. Even with the dark night, Ron could see the names of Lily and James Potter engraved in the white stone. The sight of those words chilled him to the bone. Ron had always known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Harry's parents had died when Harry was only a year old. That's what Harry was famous for. His parents died, but he had somehow lived. But there was something about seeing the names etched into rock, knowing that he was standing not even five feet away from the remains of innocent victims that gave up their lives for the safety of others, that gave him the awful ache of loss. It was then that Ron truly understood what Harry was going through every single day of his life.

Harry must have known Ron and Hermione were there behind him, but he didn't acknowledge. He just continued to sit cross-legged on the grass, tears running down his face. He didn't make a sound, but every now and then his shoulders would shake.

Hermione carefully knelt down in the grass next to him, putting her arm around his shoulders.

When his tears finally stopped, Harry dropped his head into his hands. "I don't know why I'm crying. Their deaths are avenged for. Voldemort's dead."

Hermione glanced at Ron, asking for help.

"You can never replace someone you love," Ron said finally. "George will never quite be the same, no matter how much time passes. I will never be the same. It's the same thing for you. You never got to know your parents. You still love them though. And killing Voldemort a million times won't make you ever feel better. It's those little things that everyone takes for granted. I can't tell you how many times I've fought with Fred. And now he's gone. And I'll never forget him."

"Harry," Hermione said tentatively. "Although you don't have parents anymore, you still have people that care—"

"Including my mum," Ron interrupted, "Who'll have our necks because we're so late."

Hermione silenced him with her death glare. "Anyway, we still care about you. All of us. Together. I just want you to know that."

Harry stared at the gravestone. "I know."

Ron helped him up and he and Hermione stood on either side of him. They walked out of the cemetery. Together.

**A/N: Oh, the tears. Oh Harry. Anyway, reeeeview please. Button down there.**


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